Back to the Furniture, Part II

Yesterday, Nick blogged about a promotional opportunity he missed out on. A local furniture company said they would refund your $2000+ furniture purchase if UCLA beat USC. And UCLA did end up beating USC. Looks like the promotion backfired on them.

My advice to Nick is this: Nick, follow a similar action to that of Biff in Back to the Future, Part II. Buy a "2006-2007 Furniture Sales and Promotions Almanac," travel back to last weekend, and slip it to the "November 2006" Nick.

I guess it doesn't really matter when you do it... today, tomorrow, fifty years from now... the older and creepier you are, the better. And while you're back in the past, slip one to the "November 2006" Giraffe as well. I won't recognize you because you'll be old and creepy and have a hover-wheelchair, but just mention that it's like Biff in BTTF2, and I'll know what you're talking about.

I guess this somewhat general advice really applies to all of you readers. In the future, when we get to the point where we have flying cars, hover skateboards, automaticly drying jackets, 3D hologramic Jaws movie marquees, and most-importantly time machines, you should look for obsure almanacs to give to your younger self. And a younger Giraffe.

Seven Thoughts

Seven thoughts to think about this weekend:

1. I live in Northwest Portland. The sanitation truck that picks up the recycling in my neighborhood is from “Eastside Recycling.” Eastside Recycling. Northwest Portland. Way to have neighborhood pride, Northwest Portland. Way to keep it local. I’m going to try and see what company picks up my garbage, but if it says Salem Sanitation, I’m going to move.

2. My dogs don’t understand holidays. Last week, Barkley was playing with a Halloween-themed dog toy. Come on Barkley, totally wrong holiday. Ghosts are October. Turkeys are November. Santas are December. Get it straight.

3. As much as I would like the job, I don't think I could ever be a SportsCenter anchor. I just don't think I could handle wearing a jacket and tie, every single day.

5. Do FedEx delivery drivers hate UPS drivers, and vice versa? Like, is it like a gang war? And where does DHL fit into all of this? Nobody likes their stupid yellow trucks anyways.

6. Is it wrong that I want to be in the New Jersey mafia or maybe even be a drug dealer in Baltimore?... Can you tell that I’ve been watching a lot of DVDs of The Sopranos and The Wire.

7. You know that guy with the movie trailer voice? I mean, the guy with the voice? He does all the good ones... “In a word without hope... One man... One chance... Against all odds... ” You know, that guy? Well, when is he going to die? I really want that job.

HeliChips

Okay, so I came up with another invention. You can't steal it though. I'm moral trademarking it right now. If you steal this idea and make tons of money, you will pay with your soul. Or stock options. I accept both.

So here's the idea...HeliChips. Bags of chips that are packed in helium instead of...air? or whatever they normally have in them. But it's a bag of Tortilla chips, Sun Chips, or Doritos that has helium in it! Wouldn't that be freakin' awesome?!?!

Just think about ripping open a bag and then huffing chip vapors and talking like Simon or Theodore. "Meeee, I wannnnnt a hoooooola-hoooooop!" Oh man, I'm so excited just typing about it.

There are so many kinds of chips you could helium! (<---notice that I used "helium" as a verb, to helium something) Of course, we could do it with all the "itos" (Doritos, Fritos, Tostidos, Lays with Rigiditos). We could even do it with Cheetos! (another "ito.") Each different chip could have its own heliumed name, like Cheetos HeliCrunchy and Cheetos HeliPuffs.

Okay, time to wrap it up and get serious. Potential financial investors, here are the top three selling benefits of HeliChips:
1. Freaking awesome product. Unique. Funny voice alterations. Shared experiences. Smiles all around.

2. Huge target audience: Childen, Adults, College students, Stoners... the list goes on.

3. Cuts down on transportation costs. By packing our product in a lifting gas, our semi trucks will be lighter, and use less fuel. Another option could be delivering it in a blimp!

Investors, contact me.

What? of the Loom

I saw a Fruit of the Loom commercial and was puzzled by the characters. If you are unaware, Fruit of the Loom, the underwear manufacturer, has mascots. In their commercials, grown men dress like giant fruit, and interact in daily social situations as the fruit. It’s unclear to me if they are “guys dressed as fruit” or if they are supposed to be magical, mythical, giant walking and talking fruit.

What is really puzzling to me is the specific fruits that the guys are supposed to be. I’ve always understood the guy dressed as a red apple. And the two guys that are dressed as grapes, green and red (purple grapes?).

It’s always the fourth fruit guy that confuses me. What the hell is he supposed to be? He looks kind of orange/brownish and kind of spikey/leafy. WTF are you, dude? Are you a clump of spaghetti? That’s not a fruit. Are you Animal from The Muppets? Again, not fruit.




And recently, the weird orange guy has been replaced by a weird leafy green guy. That's very confusing. Did the orange guy die? Did he get cut from the group? Was he rotten, but now he's in season?



It turns out that after a little internet research, the fourth fruit is supposed to be a fig leaf. I’m assuming that the internet is referring to the green guy. I know nothing about figs or fig leaves, but I think Adam and Eve had green bikinis on.

In conclusion, I’m confused why this company chose to associate fruit with their underwear. And secondly, why include a crappy fruit like a fig or a head of lettuce with cool fruits like apple and grape. I guess that choosing a banana is just a little too suggestive.

Lord of the Ring

Ladies who are in long term relationships (LTRs) should be required to wear some sort of long-term relationship ring. It has a similar function as an engagement ring--to alert and deter. At bars and house parties, it would help single guys avoid wasting time on ladies who already have a man. I won’t waste time on you, and you won’t get approached by single guys trying to hit on girls.

This is probably a win-win situation for both people in the LTR. I’m sure girls wouldn’t mind receiving this jewelry gift from their boyfriend. And I’m sure most guys would be willing to spend a few bucks if it keeps sketchy dudes away from their girlfriend.

I think this is a modern version of what they did back in the fifties and sixties--pinning. Am I saying that right, pinning? To "pin" a girl? Like after the sock hop, you "pin" her jacket or something, and then she uses her rotary phone to tell her friend how "dreamy" you are? And then together they sing a two-part call-and-response song ending in dancing and jazz hands. I think this is right. I'm pretty sure something like this happened in Grease or Bye Bye Birdie.

Oh, one last note. All of us single guys got together and approved one exception to this new LTR ring policy. If you’re one of those girls who is in a relationship, but is actively searching for a better boyfriend, then you are allowed to leave the ring at home. But only if you are serious about cheating on your boyfriend. Slutty girls can do this to, just as long as your boyfriend is not at the bar/party and has no chance of kicking my ass.

Evesgiving

Why don't more holidays have "eves"? There are some good ones, like New Years Eve, Christmas Eve, and even Halloween is technically an eve. All usually have good parties, good food, and sometimes presents. I think that there should be more eves. Flag Eay Eve... President’s Day Eve... Evester...

I even want to have an eve for my birthday. I think that would be a good one. Kind of like two birthdays. Like a preparty and then an afterparty. (Then after the party?—The Hotel Lobby... Six in the Mornin’, Six in the Mornin’.)

Thanksgiving is this week, but so is a new holiday. And I think that the new holiday, Thanksgiving Eve (aka Evesgiving), should be a little bit different. Like instead of being thankful, you get to demand that others be thankful of you. Kind of like calling out why people should thank you on the next day (Thanksgiving).

“This Evesgiving, I want you to be thankful of me. I totally saved your ass by paying rent that one month. And what about when I picked you up from the airport? And you didn’t even offer to pay for gas? What was that? I need double thanks for that one…”

Happy Evesgiving.

Things I Think About When I See a Homeless Person

Today I saw a homeless person pushing a cart down the street. He had all of his belongings in his shopping cart, and it was a little chilly outside. And this made me think.

Do grocery stores get to write of the stolen shopping carts on their taxes? Like, is that a "charitable donation?" Or can they put stolen carts in the "net loss" category? Do they buy 200 new cart with the foresight that 10-15 will get stolen?

If they see the act of stealing, do they chase after the getaway cart?

Do grocery stores file police reports for stolen carts? “Hello, 911? It’s Safeway. We just got cart jacked! Yes, again!” Cops would then pull over a homeless guy and search the VIN number of the cart? "So, buddy, you just found the cart in a ditch, you say? Likely story. We're taking you downtown and putting you in a lineup. Book him, Murphy."

Homeless people are getting free reign here. Stealing carts when and wherever they want! They’re getting away with murder! Well, not murder. It’s just an expression. But I’m sure that some homeless people have gotten away with murder, but that’s another blog.

Trick or... Frozen Stuffed Sandwich?

I had an uneventful Halloween day this year. I didn't go to a party or to a bar. I had a new costume that we made a work, but I didn't wear it out. The past couple years, I have had a run of some good ones--a toilet, UPS delivery man, "From Corvalis" (pretty much a hunting hick). I did go to a buddy's housewarming/halloween party last weekend and saw some good costumes.

But for the actual Halloween day, I just stayed in and watch the NBA openers on TNT and did some reading. I wasn't really feeling "Halloween-y" this year. No pumpkin carving, no fake spiderwebs, and no candy. I didn't buy any. So I tried to avoid trick-or-treaters. I closed the blinds at my apartment and turned off the lights. And this actually worked.

The whole night, I only got one doorbell ring. When I answered it, I was greeted by a brother-sister trick-or-treating duo. The were probably 5 and 7 years old. One was a ballerina and one was a turtle. (Guess which was which? Hint--if the boy was in a tutu, I would have said "One was a ballerino.")

Well crap, I didn't have any candy, so I improvised... HOT POCKETS! Yes, the ballerina and the turtle left my apartment with nutricious, delicious Hot Pockets. If only I were that lucky as a child! The only thing I can remember getting that wasn't candy was a toothbrush (the dentist in the neighborhood), and a toothbrush is no fun.

Grammer-B-Gon

I'll be upfront with you. Sometimes I’m a grammar nerd. I mean, I’m not perfect. I do occasionally end my sentences with a preposition. Or maybe I start a sentence with a conjunction. But for the most part, I identify dependant clauses. I properly set up my indirect appositives. Even using a gerund is commonplace for me. But one thing that has been bugging me lately is corporations intentionally misspelling words.

I recently noticed a bottle of weed killer in my mom’s garage. The name of this product is Weed-B-Gon. Just the name of this bottle pisses me off. Doesn’t it piss you off, too? It pisses me off. First, it is misspelled. Second, it is hyphenated to make a single word. Actually, it is an attempt at smashing a full sentence into a single word. A better attempt at this would be “Weeds-will-be-gone.” Or “Kill-weeds-with-this-chemical-spray.”



I am trying to find the reason for the improper spelling and hyphenation of this product. Are they marketing to illiterate yard workers? Do complete sentences turn away consumers? Is there research that proves that hyphens increase sales volume? Are they trying to piss of grammar nerd bloggers with journalism degrees?

Another example is Toys”R”Us. I can’t even type the name of the store, because my keyboard does not have a backwards R key. (Dammit, where is the backwards R? Control-function-F4? Nope. I give up.)



Like Weed-B-Gon, Toys”R”Us likes to mash an incomplete and incorrect sentence into a single word, this time using quotation marks. Just in case you were wondering, it should be Toys”Are”We. I wonder if there is a study that proves how many cases of dyslexia are even partially influenced from that damn backwards R. I know that it set me back a month or two in Forth”Grad”English”Klass.

In conclusion, just name your company or product with a short name. Maybe just a word, maybe two. People will figure out what kind of product your selling. The first word in Toys”R”Us is toys. We get it; you sell toys. Weed-B-Gon is in a similar shaped bottle (with the handle and the pump-spray nozzle) and on the same shelf in the garden section as all the other weed killers.

And please, if you do need to have a long name, take a look at the positive example executed by the fine folks at "I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!"



Footnote: Geoffrey the Giraffe, I do not like the way you spell your name. I'm more of a "Jeff" fan than a "Geoff" fan. I feel like I should pronounce your name "Gee-off." We can work through this in the meantime. I'm a Giraffe. You're a Giraffe. It's cool. But be warned, if I see you on the street and I'm with people I know, I will not talk to you.

The Apple iTree

(This blog may or may not be relevant by the time this is posted to the internet. The products mentioned in the blog will probably be already out of date.)

Dear Steve Jobs,
First, let me say that I like your work. I like Apple. I like your products--the simplicity, the functionality, the sleek design. I own a couple—-a laptop, two iPods, and some smaller peripherals. I’m a repeat customer, and I’m mostly pleased.

That being said, I am frustrated. Why? Because five minutes after I buy one of your Apple products, I feel that the new product is obsolete. The joy and excitement I had for owning this cool, new, top-of-the-line Apple product disappears. It happens every time. And do you want to know why? It’s because you release a newer, slimmer, faster model right after I’ve broken the seal on the shrink-wrap.

I have to hand it to you. Your company seems to know what you’re doing. I am still satisfied with the product, but just disappointed that it isn’t top of the line anymore. I keep coming back to Apple. Nothing is wrong with my product-—it still functions well, looks good, and does what I bought it to do. It just isn’t as... new. All of your upgrades are significant enough to diminish the last version, but not large enough for me to trash it. You seem to be walking this thin line of almost pissing me off and getting me excited for the next generation of Apple gizmo.

For example, I bought an iPod Photo almost two years ago. It was the first iPod with a color screen, and I paid extra for that feature. I had what others didn’t have—-a color screen. And I was happy. For about three months. Because then the iPod Video came out. All the new iPod Videos have color screens now, and they are slimmer, and they play video, and they cost less. Well, shit! I wish I had known that three months ago!

Another issue are my laptops--12” G4 Powerbook at home, 15” G4 Powerbook at work. They are pimped out with software and ramm. They are good computers, but not great anymore. They aren’t a G5, or even an MacPro Intel Duo. I don’t even know what version of OSX we’re on anymore...Panther, Cheetah, Orca, Grizzly? My laptops suit me fine. They get the job done. But Apple has me wanting the newer, faster laptops.

What prompted me to write this blog is the latest fiasco. I just bought an iPod Nano last month. I was psyched. This is my first mp3 player upgrade in two years. The Nano is so small, lightweight, and just plain cool. My old iPod Photo feels like a brick compared to the Nano. But gosh darnit, what’s this? What’s this new commercial? New Nanos?!?! That have brighter screens, longer battery life, and double the storage capacity for no extra cost? And they come in five or six different color choices?

Apple just shat on me again.



This is my diagram describing Apple’s product strategy. I call it “The Apple iTree.” At the bottom of the iTree stands me and all the other Apple customers. Notice my hand picking a product off the the iTree. Within arm’s reach grows a 4GB iPod Nano. Unbeknownst to me, halfway up the tree, barely out of sight and barely reachable grows an 8GB Nano in five new colors. Soon it will grow closer to the customers. It makes my 4GB Apple not as sweet (get it? sweet? like fruit? it's a pun. i'm sorry). Lastly, at the top of the tree, way out of sight, is the new 15GB iPod Electron (or some other cool name that suggest it’s small size). Right now it's just a prototype, but just wait, because the iPod Electron is going to blow the socks off of the Nano.

DOLLAR TREE I$$UES

I was thinking about the local chain of discount "dollar stores"... you know the ones... The Dollar Store. The 99-Cent Store. 98-Cents Or Le$$. I'm just making up names here. But I'm sure there are ones with those exact names. Anyway, there's a chain here in Oregon called The Dollar Tree. I've never been. Actually, I've never been to any of the "dollar stores." I think I'm subconsiously scared of them, or something.



Issue #1.
I was a little T-O-ed to find out that The Dollar Tree sells items for MORE THAN A DOLLAR. What? Huh? That's bogus! They are still in whole dollar denominations, like $2, $3, $4, but that's BS. That's misleading. Everything should be a dollar. I'm told that some things are 2-for-$1 or 4-for-$1. That's fine. Less than a dollar is okay, but over a dollar is not. I think there is a law against that. Or at least there should be.

Issue #2.
If everything in The Dollar Tree is a denomination of a whole dollar, do they keep change in the cash register? Theoretically, they don't need any coins. Are the coin slots just kept empty? Do they make special register trays for "dollar stores" that don't include coin trays? What about the 99-cent stores--do they have absurdly large penny trays? If it is a regular cash register tray, are the tellers allowed to keep other things in those slots? Personally, I think they'd be perfect for candy. Great way to have a little snack in between breaks, you know. Like Skittles or MNM's. Or Neccos! Neccos even look kind of like coins! Or maybe even dog treats (not for the teller, but for a customers dog). The options seem endless.

I might have to ask my friend, Bryan, about these issues. He used to work at "The Tree." I might also ask if employees referred to it as "The Tree."

Cheap Labor Depot

A few weekends ago, my sister and I went early in the morning to the Home Depot by the stadiums in downtown Seattle. There is only one entrance/exit, and it had tons of migrant worker guys hanging around in the parking lot. I’m not saying that I’m ignorant about the whole day laborer concept. I’m just saying I’ve never seen it so blatantly out in the open. Surprisingly, they don’t have day laborers at my Home Depots in Beaverton and Hillsboro.



Maybe the one in Seattle is like a Mega-Home Depot with a larger gardening section, premium lumber, and also... day laborers. It was just weird to see. It was 7am in downtown Seattle. More than sixty Hispanic guys. Standing around, eager—no, primed and ready—to jump in our car. They were waving and yelling and advertising themselves as we drove in.

One guy held up two fingers and yelled, “Dos!” Sorry buddy, we already got dos. Me and my sister, and all we’re doing is hanging rods in the closet. Maybe next time.

Hush 'Lil Jon, Don't Say a Word

Can Lil Jon tell secrets? I imagine him leaning in closely, looking left and right to make sure no one is eavesdropping, then yelling "I'VE GOTTTT A SECCCREEEETTTTT. YEAHHHHHHHH!"

JINX!!!!!!!

Tell me you don't beleive in superstition. Tell me you don't fear black cats, or walking under a ladder, or breaking a mirror, or appearing on the cover of a Madden NFL video game.



Shaun Alexander has a broken foot and will be out for a couple weeks.

Bad news for our northwest team. Good news for fellow Duck Maurice Morris. Or MoMo as his friends call him. Right Jones? Tell him that I say, "Sup?"

The Fishbowl of Righteousness

Okay, so I'm not sure if righteousness is the correct word. Actually, I don't think righteousness is anywhere close to the word I'm searching for, but The Fishbowl of Righteousness just sounds so cool.

Okay, so here's what's up. I got this vase that kind of looks like a fishbowl. It's clear, spherelike, and hollow. That's pretty much the requirements for describing a fishbowl. But it's not a fishbowl, it's a vase! But it's one of those vases that you aren't supposed to put flowers in. Instead, they're always being displayed filled with things like potpourri, dried leaves, or colored rocks with sticks coming out the opening.

I think that's bullshit. And I'm taking interior decorating into my own hands. I'm bringing it back to "realness." No dried leaves. No potpourri. Just bottle caps.

That's right. Bottlecaps, what. Beer bottle caps! Let the collection begin! It might take a few years, it might take the help of friends, it might take a bunch of houseparties, but I vow that the The Fishbowl of Righteousness will overflow with beer bottlecaps.



THE RULES:
1. Only beer bottlecaps.
2. Only beer bottlecaps consumed in my house or apartment.
3. Upon entry into the fishbowl, the beer drinker must declare the words "The Fishbowl of Righteousness!"
4. A party will be held to celebrate the overflowednessousity of the fishbowl. The title of this party shall be known as "The Celebration of the Overflowednessousity of The Fishbowl of Righteousness." That sounds a little long; it's just a working title for now.

Business Trip Knowledge

My co-worker/buddy Ben and I just got back from a four-day business trip in Phoenix and San Diego. Here are some notes from our trip:

I was in San Diego for three days, but I never put even a toe in the ocean. It wasn't because it was cold. It's just that I'm scared of sting rays, mate.

Rental car quote of the trip: I drive a Dodge Stratus. I'm a division manager. People respect me. (Guess what kind of rental car we had for two days?)


This is Ben. This is the Dodge Stratus.

The heat in Phoenix is unbearable. While visiting Arizona in the summer, every single time you walk out of a restaurant/bar/store/car/anything that has air conditioning, at least one person in your group will say "Damn it's hot." And it is.

The brunch at the hotel in Phoenix had this cool semi-suspended Belgian waffle maker contraption. The customer gets to pour in a small cup of batter, squeeze the lid down, flip the device, and set the timer that alerts you when the waffle is finished cooking. That being said, I had Frosted Flakes.

When placed in the same pocket of a backpack, an ipod, an ipod charger, a bunch of loose change, headphones, a digital camera, four granola bars, a couple of dvds, sunglasses, and a deck of cards dramatically resembles a bomb. At least that's what five Phoenix airport security officials determined after two minutes of examining it on the x-ray conveyor belt.

Hot girls from Burbank are stuck-up beeotches. This stereotyping statement is based upon one thirty-second interaction in a hotel elevator.

The Oregon Duck football team is losing players to injury at a rate of one player per quarter. At this rate, by mid-season Mike Belloti will be handing the ball off to the Donald the Duck mascot for the running plays. And we'll still beat the Huskies. Hi-oooooo. (Rimshot.)

"Animal Style" is way better than regular onions. And I have never been disappointed with In-N-Out's customer service. Always friendly, helpful, and hard-working. And they wear funny hats. I like that place.

Every time I see a dog missing a leg, I assume that his name is "Tripod." It's just my human nature to think that. But I've never seen a dog with two legs, or even just one. Is there a similar naming process in these circumstances? Bipod? Dipod? Unipod? Monopod? Pod?

Remember twelve years ago? When asked, you would list rollerblading as one of your hobbies. We all did! But today, I never see any rollerbladers. I had assumed they went extinct. Well, a few of them survived, and they live along the California boardwalks. They also wear headphones and sweat a lot.

The girl in the BMW with the California license plate "CUTIE 5" is accurately referring to her cuteness on a scale of one to ten.

Nick, who we met up with in San Diego, agrees that the correct pronunciation of the city of La Jolla should be "La Jawl-la," not "La Hoi-ya." Man Law!

Hotels should make all second-story hotel room balconies closer to the swimming pools that they overlook. Mine was pretty close, but just far enough to not jump--about six or eight feet. I think I could have made it.

Bob, the security checkpoint guy at the San Diego airport determined that my Nike running shoes do not have traces of chemicals used to make bombs. I told him that when he "randomly" picked me. I'm not sure if he believed me, but he had to swab them anyway--it was his job. I got searched at two of three airports this weekend. I'm starting to think I'm getting racially profiled.

I Am Not A Snake

You've changed, change.

What am I talking about today? I'm talking about Currency. Coinage. Money. Cash. Chips. Cabbage. Green. Tender. Notes. Dough.

Quarters
So I'm paying for some fast food at the drive thru window, and I notice two new state quarters that I hadn't seen! One from 2006, the other from 2005 (Nebraska and Kansas). Not only have I stopped noticing the new quarters, I have also stopped collecting them. And I assume that you have too.

Do you remember those chart-like booklets/posters made out of cardboard that we all got a couple years back? The know the one. Where you push in the quarter so you can display the unique side for everyone to see its collecting splendor. (Except that you keep it in your sock drawer or in the back of the hall closet where nobody can see it.)

Who would have guessed that three years later, we all got ADCD (Attention Deficit Collecting Disorder) and forgot all about the quarters. Did we even make it halfway through? I don't think so. It sucks that I quit before my home states got their quarters. (Sorry Cali and Oregon, I tried.) (No, I didn't.) Damn the western states for waiting so long to join the union. I blame Meriwether Clark and his frequent rest-stop bathroom breaks.

Dimes
I have nothing bad to say about you, dime. Some might comment on how small and thin you are, but size doesn't matter little buddy. Keep on doing your thing.

Nickels
I think it's a little odd that nickels are twice as big as dimes, but worth half the value. That's a little messed up in my opinion. Shouldn't the coins size reflect its value? Like the bigger it is, the more the coin is worth. So in size it should go Quarter-Dime-Nickel-Penny. Maybe back in 1776, the Chief Officer of Coinage read the work order wrong and switched up the casting sizes and then tried playing it off as that's the way Ben Franklin wanted it. "G.W., I agree with you. There should be an orderly system, but you know B-Frank, he's one zany dude. Let's just go with the way the molds are now."

Also, I have here three new-ish nickels and all three of them have a different picture of Jefferson on the front. WTF? Are we doing pictorials on our coins now? So here's the rundown. There's the normal one where T.J. is facing the left. (This is the Old School T.J. coin.) Then there's this new one where he's facing to the right. (I don't understand why? Is this his "good side?") And then there's another new one where he's staring straight into my soul! (Also it looks like somebody or something is lurking the the background! Look out T.J., it's a ghost! Oh no! Maybe if you weren't so fixated on me, then you wouldn't have gotten attacked by a ghost with your back turned.)



Pennies
I hate to say this, but you need to go. You have no use. You take up space. You don't match the color of the other coins. You're all up in my grill, and you need to step off, holmes. Step off. You're only real purpose is to help distinguish between the Dollar Tree Store and the 99-Cents Store. Even Walmart rolls back in larger incredments these days. Seriously, you don't even buy a gumball or anything. All the people who could tell me stories of what you used to buy are dead. It's not just me, the other coins are talking, too. Sacagawea's been talking trash behind you're back since she got on the scene. I'm sorry to say it George, but you need to go. You're still on the dollar though, and that should be a relevant denomination for at least another ten years. Before we switch to the Euro.

Sacagawea
Nobody uses you. Nobody likes you. There is no secure space for you in my wallet, and I don't want you jingling and jangling in my pocket. You're not socially accepted. I feel like you were a clever idea our government had after looking at coins from other countries. And I'm not buying it. You're a knock-off. The only things that dispense you are stamp machines, which are pushers for the government. I vow to do everything in my power to reject your use.

Oh, and I noticed your ploy of showing a baby on your face side. That's pretty low. What's next, a puppy on the tails side?



Silver Dollar and Two-Dollar Bill
Just saying "Hey." Sup, guys? Haven't seen you in a while. Man, we had some good times. Birthdays! Remember my birthdays. Cards from Grandparents and other family members. Good times, good times. Yes, I started getting more money as gifts as I got older, but I would have happily accepted ten $2 bills instead of a $20. When I get older, I'm totally giving you as gifts to the next generation. Payin' it forward.
Half Dollar
Let me break it down to ya. This isn't easy to say, because I like you, but it needs to be said. You need to lose weight. You're just too big. You look like a quarter, which is cool, quarters are all the rage. But you're obese. You're like Quarter's fatter, older brother.

You don't carry well. You clog up vending machines. You are too hard to flip when calling head or tails. You're like the coin version of Jared from Subway circa 1999. I tell you this because I like you. You still have time to win me over. I'm not writing you off like the penny and that cocky bitch, Saca. You have some worth, especially as inflation goes up and we eventually drop the penny and the nickel. (Sorry nickel, you're next.)

So Halfy, eat some six-inch subs, man. Walk instead of taking the bus. Get your face on a tv commercial. Shed those fat pants. Do these things. Seriously. You're so money and you don't even know it.

Who could hate Shaun White? Me.

How good is it to be Shaun White right now? This kid is blowing up. He’s not even 20, and he’s at the top of his game. He’s bigger than Jack White, bigger than Barry White, bigger than Reggie White, and even bigger than E.B. White (Shout out to Templeton: What up, rat!). He has mad endorsements. I’ve recently seen him on two commercials: HP laptops and SportsCenter. He’s in video games. He has a clothing line. He has eight X Games metals and an Olympic Gold Metal (2006 Winter Halfpipe). He’s a hero, or at least a roll model, to today’s youth. And on top of all this, he seems like a genuinely nice and grounded kid.



So is it wrong for me to hate him? Why do I ask? Because I do.

I hate his hair. I hate his smile. I hate the way he spells his name Shaun and not Shawn or Sean. I hate his clothing line. I hate his myspace page. I hate when he rides switch (goofy if he’s snowboarding). I hate that he listens to music while he does halfpipe. I hate that he is trying to one-up Tony Hawk’s 900 by attempting a 1080 in competition. I don’t hate his voice, but I do hate his post-competition interviews. I hate his nickname “Flying Tomato,” but I hear that he hates the nickname too, so maybe I like it, not sure on that one yet. I hate that he probably doesn’t hate me. I hate his sponsors, unless they want to throw me some free gear. On second though, I do hate his voice.

Why do I hate Shaun White? I don’t know. I don’t think I can give you a definitive answer. Maybe because he is successful at such a young age. Maybe I’m jealous because I never made it big in extreme/alternative sports. Maybe because I think he looks weird. I remember when he was cute little kid. Now he has Olsen Twin Syndrome, where puberty kicks in and you aren’t that cute anymore (sorry Mary Kate, but it’s true). Right now, I might have a hard time picking him out of a police lineup with Carrot Top and Rocky, that guy from the Cher movie, Mask. Yes, that’s mean, but it’s true.



I guess I just feel that it’s wrong that he’s on top of the world. Shaun White can do no wrong. Everyone loves him. Think of the worst thing he could do, and he wouldn’t get in trouble. The worst thing ever. He could like, skate up to the Vatican, stab the Pope in the back with a pocketknife, do an ollie, skate away, and not get in trouble. He’d probably even get a new sponsor out of the event, like Leatherman or something. In fact, they’d probably name a trick after the whole thing. You’d see highlights on SportsCenter later that night: the “Backside No-Pope,” invented by Shaun White. Scott VanPelt says, “Shaun White, with powers comparable to Wonderboy!!!” and then Stu Scott throws in a “Boo-yah!”

I wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way. Maybe so. I might search to see if there is a anti-fan page, or a hate site or something. And Shaun, don't worry. I'm not crazy or a stalker, and I would never "Backside No-Pope" you. The whole blog was a little cathartic, and who knows how I'll feel about you in a few years (when you stop winning metals). And seriously, Burton, Birdhouse, MountainDew, Sony, Oakley, T-Mobile, if any of y’all want to send some gear my way, I might consider changing my beliefs and/or opinions on this blog subject and maybe other topics, too. The Giraffe can be bought.

Ghetto Big Mac

How to cheaply assemble your own Ghetto Big Mac using items off the Dollar Menu. The Giraffe says, "Save some moneys!"

Vegas Twice in One Month?

As much a I tell my friends (and myself) how much I should quit poker, it's hard to follow through when every once and a while I win a large poker tournament (okay Hellmuth, at least large in my eyes). Poker takes up time that I wish I could spend reading, drawing, hanging with buddies, working on advertising projects to further my career. There are only so many free hours in a day.

Poker is streaky, and during the months when I am not winning much, I feel that maybe this is a bad, time-consuming hobby. I made a lot of money my senior year in college, but haven't made very much comparitively in the two years since graduating. I've recently reevaluated my playing style, what types of games I play in, and things like that.

I realized that in college I would play more large tournaments (5+ hours online). Nowadays, with a job and other activities, I haven't had many 5+ hour stretches of time to set aside for poker. But I'm trying to play more to where my strengths are, and I feel my game is on the upswing.

JJ introduced me to a local bar's tournament (40 or so person tourny where 5 make the money). I've only been five times, but I have made the money every time (1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th, 5th).

So, right now I'm feeling good. But the big question is this... Do I hop on a plane and play in The $10,000 Main Event of the World Series of Poker, which starts Friday-Sunday? Or do I take the money and pay off every single ounce of credit card debt?

As much as I would like to go to Vegas, the responsible side of me chooses to pay off my debts.

The Honey Bucket Burgler

Can I be honest? Good. I’m going to reveal a little secret, a personal pet peeve of mine. Something I’m not sure whether I should be proud of or ashamed of, but here it is. I hate buying toilet paper. Not the physical act of purchasing toilet paper, but that fact that I have to pay money for thin sheets of paper to wipe my ass.

Why do I hate buying it? Because it’s paper. It seems like I shouldn’t have to pay for it. Free paper is everywhere. Community newspapers on the street corner. Restaurant napkins. Junk mail. Parade confetti. All of this paper is free. I guess I’m just too overexposed to free paper.

I know that compared to the other items I buy at the grocery store, toilet paper isn’t that expensive. Like, oven pizza, a jug of milk, toothpaste--each of these things is probably more expensive than toilet paper.

But for some reason, I feel more inclined to steal toilet paper from work, a port-o-john, or a public restroom than pay for it at the store. And I have. Yes, I know. I am an adult, with a job. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Mine is stealing toilet paper in times of need.

Here’s a realization: Maybe we’re not paying for the actual toilet paper; we’re paying for the process of wrapping it around the cardboard tube.

Hit me baby one more time

Ashlee Simpson got rid of her parrot nose and all of a sudden, she has jumped from a solid "8" to a debatable "10." We can even argue that she has usurped Jessica as the hottest sister. If Ashlee was in the NBA draft, we would be discussing her "upside"--younger, sluttier, writes her own songs, doesn't lip sync...wait was that her or Jessica? I can't even tell them apart these days.



Okay, let's try to figure out which Simp this is here... Blonde hair... Exposed cleavage... Wait a sec! Hold on! Black fingernails! Okay, that's Ashlee.

I saw her new video "Invisible" where she plays the most convincing boxer to ever where full makeup, high heels, and hair extentions in the ring. (Watch out Swank, if lip syncing pop stars could win Oscars for music videos, you'd be neck and neck in a catfight.)



Ashlee is totally stealing Jessica's signature moves. Blonde hair. Bad dancing. Singing against a wall and turning her head away to do a "side-pose" kind of thing. I wonder if the Simps all had a family dinner, and dad broke the news that Ash is the new cash cow. But Jess can still do chores to earn money, like mow the lawn, reply to Ash's fan mail, and maybe back up dance on the tour.

I always liked Ashlee before, because if I was ever in a bar/club/los angeles, I'd have a better shot with her than Jessica. Like a .0001% chance rather than a .0000% chance with Jessica. I'd totally go up and be all "Hey, do I know you from somewhere? Jesuit High, Portland, Oregon? Class of 2000? No? Hmm, you look really familiar, though... anyways, why don't you buy me a beer, babe. And none of that domestic shit. Microbrew me."

So what I guess I'm saying is that the times are changing. Be ready Jessica. If I run into you, you might just be lucky a get approached by me. Maybe.

GrapeNuts and Bird Piss

They might as well call GrapeNuts cereal PixieGold, or UnicornFarts or RainbowFruit. Because those words are just a descriptive of the cereal as are the words "grape" and "nuts."

I was very dissapointed by the lies that Post Cereal includes in the naming of its cereal. GrapeNuts tastes neither like grapes, nor nuts. I don't think grapes and nuts are even ingredients in the cereal, which is total BS. A proper description of GrapeNuts cereal is this--CrunchySawdust. Taste and texture. CunchySawdust. I heard that is was the healthiest cereal, and now I know why. Because there isn't much fat, sugar, or any other "bad things" in sawdust.

Hey! Here's an idea! What if there was a cereal like Lucky Charms except instead of sugar marshmallow shapes it was different colors and flavors of jello jigglers? That would be awesome. And we could call it Jigglers. But we would have no affiliating with Jiggles Exotic Dancing in Wilsonville, or any strip club named Jiggles for that matter. It's a children's cereal, come on now. But wouldn't that be a fun cereal? Little jello cubes!



Do birds pee? I thought about this after a bird shit on my windshield. I've many times had birds shit on my car. But I've never seen a bird pee on cars.

I've seen a bird shit on a person while we were all standing outside for a fire drill in high school. I've killed two birds with the throw of a single rock, true story. But I've never seen a bird pee.

Spiders

I hate them. I want to kill the little bastards. Two legs, good. Four legs, good. Eight legs, bad. I don't think I've ever met something with eight legs that I've liked. It just seems unnatural. And they are vengeful mofos, you just wait and see. Piss off a spider and you're in for it.

Can I admit something to you? I'm a little bit afraid of spiders. I can handle most of them. I'll naturally stomp or squish with the best of them, but there's a point where that confidence and hunting instinct turns to fear. And that point is when the body of the spider gets to the size of a nickel, not the whole spider with legs, we're just talking the body. That's when those things, at least in my instinctual mind, turn from insects into animals.

And then they fight back. Spiders have big spider teeth that leave bites that bleed, that bleed badly. And they can climb up walks and jump like little ninjas. And I'm scared of little spider ninjas. At that point, maybe the spider and I can come to an agreement and share the apartment. But I will not do its dishes. Or laundry.

I don't like killing a spider that crunches when I squish it. Not the best feeling. You can kind feel and hear it at the same time, a weird mix of the senses. Not pleasant. Also, what about the sprinting spider that runs from the kleenex of death. And when you do kill him, he leaves a huge smear mark of guts and green spider blood. What a little f*cker. Now I have to clean the wall, you little bastard. Told you they were vengeful.

And you want to know what is the worst? When a spider is just chillin' on the wall, and you go to squish it with toilet paper, and just as you're about to get the bastard, he jumps. He supermans off the wall and falls behind the dresser in your bedroom. Shit. Now you have to worry about spider revenge. That's like doing a driveby and missing. Now you have a pissed off wall crawler in your bedroom. And he knows you tried to kill him. Now you have to worry about him rapelling down from the ceiling onto your bed at night. You'll wake up with you legs looking like chicken pox from all the spider bites you'll receive while you sleep. Damn spider vengence.

And what about the people with those spider vacuums. (Tangent: "Vacuum" is such a weird word. I misspell it almost every time. Doesn't it seem like it should be spelled "vaccum?") Spider vacuums--what is up with these? You're so afraid of spiders, that you're willing to drop eighty bucks on a hand-vac with a spider tray. I imagine the spider vengence in this situation is pretty high. Like if the vacuum doesn't kill them, they just live in the vacuum bag, waiting until you go do dump them in the garbage. But all the spiders in there have devised a plan. They've been waiting for the bag to open, and now they all jump at your face and bite your eyes. Or what if you get a nickel-body spider and he plugs up the vacuum hose because he's so big. And he's staring at you, like "you're so dead if I get out of this hose." That's why I don't have a spider-vac. I don't want to piss off the nickel-spiders.

The movie Arachnaphobia sacred me as a child.

Remove the Lens Cap

Last weekend I drove up to Tacoma for a wedding, and to Seattle to help my sister move back from college for the summer. Over the next few days, I’ll post some quick hits/random thoughts from the weekend:


What qualifies you to be a wedding photographer? From what I can discern, it doesn’t take much. You must wear your hair in a long ponytail. You must wear your sunglasses on top of your head while inside the church. You must wear sandals. You must hire your semi-hot girlfriend/wife as your assistant (who knows if she’s getting paid for this?).

(Sidenote: I thought she was pretty good looking. Dark hair, black shirt, tight black pants. One of those really tiny, but extremely sparkly nose ring stud-things. That lets you know she gets down.) Back to photographer requirements...

You must wear a very large hip bag/fanny pack with what I assume is extra film, batteries, and business cards (that’s called networking, bitches). You must squat/lay/kneel in the church aisle while taking pictures from every angle imaginable. No standing and snapping photos allowed.

So I think that’s it. Let’s review:
ponytail
sunglasses in hair
sandals
girlfriend assistant who is a “7” or an “8,” nosering recommended
fanny pack
squat and shoot
Now you are a professional wedding photographer.

If you follow these guidelines, I am pretty sure that you will get tons of work. Don't worry; people won’t request to see your previous work, because look at you, you are clearly an experienced wedding photographer.

Oh, Mitch

Ninja News

First, let me state that I have been hot on ninjas for a long time now. Years even. Like middle school when my friend Michael Yasumoto brought me back a throwing star from Japan. Yeah Japan! Can't get much more authentic with a last name than Yasumoto. And he even owned authentic swords, granted they weren't Hatori Hanso swords, but still. And I can sing you the Sifl and Olly "Ninja of the Night" song from 1998. That stated, I'm not following the "Ninja Trend" which is booming since the recent decline of the "Pirate Trend." Remember 2007--MotorTricycles! They're going to hit on the radar right as "Ninja Trend" falls.

Anyways, that stated, I want to share these funny videos. I feel like Nate Jolly posting these YouTube links. I'll post in order, but they get progressively funnier. Enjoy:







Ask A Ninja
DoogToons

Dust in the Wind

I have a serious announcement to make. Um, I don’t know how to put this, so I’m just going to say it.

I sold Blue. You know, the giant 60” Mitsubishi tv I bought from Nate and Peter. I have no clue how old it was. Ten years maybe? I think I might have been the fifth owner. All I know is that he was named after the old guy in Old School. “You’re my boy, Blue!”

I know, I know. How could I have sold a family member? I mean, it even had a name. Let me explain myself. I felt I needed to play moneyball. You know, sell while the stock is still good, and then rebuild with new players.

I felt that Blue was going to die in the next year. There were signs. Little signs. Little tint quirks every now and then between reddish and blueish. Yellow banding on the right side of the screen on the s-video input. It was small, but I could see it. The remote that requires tape to hold the batteries in.

And not to mention how huge it was! I moved it from Eugene to Beaverton to North Portland to Northwest Portland to the NW Hills in Portland. That’s four moves in two years. I was not moving it again. It took four guys, and stairs were a bitch.

(( Oh, also I’m moving back to NW Portland this weekend. That’s the reason I decided to sell Blue. I’m moving into a one bedroom near NW 23^rd. I will be able to walk or ride a bike to work. Cut down on the commute. Save some gas. I'm excited! ))

Back to the story. So two years ago, I bought Blue from Nate and Peter for $500, and this week, I sold it on craigslist for $400. Within an hour. And by noon, I had 13 offers of varying degrees (anywhere from $400 cash that night to $350 but I had to deliver it to $200 and a used blue ipod mini). I think I could have sold it for $500 if I had reposted it, but I was fine with $400. That means I payed $100 to use it for two years. And the guy who picked it up had a pickup truck and was like an NFL linebacker, which made it easier when carrying it up the stairs.

Now here’s the shocking news. I already bought a new tv. Yeah, I know it was soon, but this particular tv and I had a connection. And it was on sale. Don’t judge me. And, oh yes, it’s hi-def. (I feel like I broke up with a long-term relationship and eloped with a stripper.) Well just in case you were wondering, it’s name is Sammy, the 46” Samsung DLP widescreen tv. And we’re happy together.

Do the Dew

I'm not sure if the Easter Bunny reads my blog, but he (or she) heard my calls. I am happy to report that I did not receive Peeps! Or for that matter, one Peep! I got the standard Easter basket contents: Cadbury egg, egg-shaped gum, a giant hollow chocolate bunny, robin's eggs... But one odd thing I also received in my easter basket was this:



Axe "Recovery" Shower Gel. Not sure if the Easter Bunny thinks I need to control my B.O., but it was a nice gesture whatever the intention. What I found interesting was the particular scent of "Recovery" Axe Gel.

It smells exactly like Mountain Dew! Seriously, it does. It actually even LOOKS like a gel Mountain Dew hybrid. I checked the back to look to see if Dew was a direct ingredient, but no luck. The coloring chemicals in Axe are Green 3 and Yellow 5... was that the "Yellow" all of us middle school boys feared? Maybe it was Yellow 4? Anyways...

Axe's advertising has always been the "sex sells" strategy. You remember, "THE AXE EFFECT"--the whole "Call me Bonnie--Axe isn't responsible for your girlfriend's friends, girlfriend's mom, girlfriend's mom's friends, or any other combination of the words girl, mom, and/or friend..." thing. Axe is the spray-on hot chick magnet, blah blah blah. So this gets me thinking--
What is up with this Mountain Dew Smell?


Look at this image. Step 1: Shower. Step 2: Hot chicks. Plural. Two. Two hot chicks. It's that simple fellas.

Have hot chicks liked this Mountain Dew smell all these years, and nobody knew? Maybe a select few dudes did know, but they held onto this insider info for as long as possible? Should I stop ordering Jack and Cokes at the bars? Should I switch to Jack and Dew? Maybe the female readers of this blog (if there are any?) can help us out? Please explain this primal scent attraction to The Dew? And is it ALL women, or just HOT CHICKS?

Radioactive Bunnies

Easter is coming up, and I have a statement to make. Ah hem. Ah hem.

I hate Peeps. Neon marshmallow animals are nasty.

Crystal Ball

I don't know if anyone else is interested in futures bets, but the Oregon Ducks are blowing up at 80-1 odds to win the 2007 BCS Championship. That means that my $6 online sportsbook bet could net me a cool $480 come January.

I also have 15-1 odds on Elliott Yamin to win American Idol, although I hedged it with a 5-2 bet on Katharine McPhee.

Just FYI.

True Giraffe Stories: Fish Punching

(No fish were harmed in the typing of this blog story.)

I remembered another story from BITD and thought I should write about it before it too is lost forever. This story involves two sports/activities in which I have very little experience. Snorkeling and Boxing. But my lack of experience did not prevent me from entertaining myself by combining the two into an obscure and seldom-performed sport: Fish Punching.

It’s a pretty simple story, actually. During the summer of senior year in high school, my family vacationed in Hawaii for two weeks. We went with our old neighbors, who have a son my age. He and I did typical Hawaii vacation things--hike, kayak, bike ride, beach, pool, and snorkel.

Now snorkeling is kinda cool. It’s not that cool. I mean, it doesn’t suck, but it gets old after a while. Especially when you have a crappy rental mask that leaks or fogs up and a snorkel that likes to force you to swallow saltwater. A week later I went SCUBA diving, which is way better. Anyways, back to fish punching.

The coolest thing I learned about snorkeling was that fish like bread. They love the stuff. It’s like underwater crack or something. We took a loaf of bread from the kitchen, ditched the twist-tie, and took the bag into the ocean with us. We were in eight feet of semi calm water, twenty feet from the shore, and no fish were around. It was kind of a bummer, until we got out the bread. We kept it in the bag and took out one slice at a time to prevent the fish from stealing the whole loaf at once. (And be warned, they will, the bastards.)

While underwater, we crumbled the slice into little flecks and within ten seconds, fifty fish were swimming all over us to get the flecks. The fish came from nowhere. (I think this is why fish tank food is in flecks as well, rather than balls or donut-shaped. Something about the flecks.) Now understand that here I am, feeding the fish. Breaking bread with the fish, if you will. And three or four fish start pecking at my hand/the bag of bread. And they wouldn’t go away. I compare this situation to the velociraptor scenes in Jurassic Park. They look prehistoric, but they’re smart and they work in teams. The fish knew where the bread was stored and were determined to get it.

So maybe I panicked, maybe I got a little water down my snorkel. Whatever the reason, I punched a medium-sized fish that was trying to get the bag. He kinda flinched, shook it off, and went back at the bag. And that’s where fish punching began--that brave, determined fish. I then tried punching the fish that were going after the bread flecks. It wasn’t necessarily hard to hit a fish, because it was like a school of fifty was swimming in my face when the flecks were flying, but one-on-one, mono-a-mono, the fish can dodge a jab. Maybe they can sense it coming, or feel it in the water, but the buggers are quick.

Now I haven’t mentioned my friend/old neighbor’s name in this story because I don’t want to unrightfully incriminate him for something he did not do. I honestly cannot remember if he did or did not punch a fish. I did. I punched a couple of them. I don’t even know if it’s illegal, but I did it. And it was a long time ago. I feel I’ve matured since then. I haven’t done it since. And you might argue that I haven’t had the opportunity, but I have. I was on vacation in Mexico two years later with the same families, and did not punch one fish.

I now wonder what would have happened if we ventured into deeper water and used larger foods, like a sheet cake or pizza. Like would dolphins come out of nowhere and swim with us? I’m not saying I want to punch a dolphin. I’m just saying it’d be cool to swim with dolphins. But be warned dolphins--Do not try to steal the pizza out of the bag!

Microwave vs Oven: Round One

A couple nights back, I was preparing to cook dinner, and before cooking, I double checked the directions. I then noticed that the recipe had two available options for cooking: Microwave AND Conventional Oven, and I thought this was weird because who in their right mind WOULDN'T microwave a Hot Pocket???



And then I studied these alternate cooking instructions even deeper. Not only would I have to wait for the oven to preheat, but the cooking time was thirty minutes! 30!!!

Everyone has a microwave. Who wouldn't just zap it for two minutes? Why would someone spend an extra forty minutes to cook a Hot Pocket. That's almost like really cooking. There must be some superior result in using an oven. So I set out to find the answer. A taste test. A comparison like no other:

MICROWAVE:


versus

OVEN:



Actually, it turns out that the Oven Hot Pocket tastes much better.
Oven positives: Evenly heated. Crisp exterior. Completely melted cheese.

But was the taste worth all the extra time???

No. The winner is Microwave Hot Pocket.
Microwave positives: Two minutes. Can't burn it, because the microwave turns off and beeps when it's done. Easier clean-up. Just throw away that little pouch thing.

Just after Joey and a little bit before Kellen

He lives. And he plays. And he starts. Check out NBC and OLN this Spring to see the quarterback for the AFL's Las Vegas Gladiators.

Fife-Dogg

Shots and Tots

Last weekend was Drew’s birthday. Zorgo turned 24! So us guys met up at The Blue Moon, a McMenamin’s establishment on NW 21st to celebrate. The night consisted of our standard joking, BSing, trying to get ladies phone numbers, and eating some fabulous food.

I got there a little late, so while I was eating my food, Lighthouse was ordering some drinks for he and Drew. I had my “usual” at McMenamin’s— cheeseburger with a side of tator tots. As I was eating my “tots,” John ordered some “shots.” And my mind went to work: "Hey, these words rhyme. Both are being consumed here at this table. Maybe these two items should be introduced to each other." And that is how I invented the newest and coolest bar drink:

SHOTS & TOTS!!!

Left hand: Shot of your favorite liquor.
Right hand: Shot glass with a single tator tot, dipped in a small amount of a condiment.

Step One: Pound the shot.
Step Two: Pound the tot.
(Step Three: Chew. Do not attempt to swallow the tot whole.)

Advantages:
1. The tot makes an awesome chaser. It’s a potato, a starch, which absorbs the bad taste.
2. It a fun group event at the bar.
3. It fun to order. Try explaining it to the waiter.
4. It attracts attention. You can talk to all the people at the tables around you about this awesome drink that your friend, Giraffe, invented.

The combinations are endless. We started with a Nate Jolly Special: Jagermeister and a tot in ketchup. Then we moved to a Tim Messa Surprise: Whiskey and a tot in ranch. Y’all need to try this at your local pub and start naming some new combinations.

This is gonna be big.

0 in 4 is a Winner!!!

While strolling down the refridgerator (beer) isle at Fred Meyer, I viewed a rookie item hanging with the big boys. New Black Cherry Vanilla Coke. You might remember my post from last year commenting on the discontinuation of Vanilla Coke.



Well New Black Cherry Vanilla Coke has arrived, and I was forced to try it. I have to say, it's not that bad. It's actually kinda good. You have to understand that I have always liked Cherry Coke. It is Coke with a sugary-sweet, syrupy cherry aftertaste that is amazing. And I liked Vanilla Coke for it's smooth entrytaste and its slight "bite." So I didn't know what to expect when these two tastes combine.

My initial reaction was that this new Coke tasted okay, but not great. The flavor was a consistant solid flavor from beginning to end. It lacked the great aftertastes that I liked from the others--the sweet cherry taste that lasted and the smooth bite of vanilla. Unlike Captain Planet, their individual powers did not combine to make a greater flavor.

Now understand that I've only had one bottle. Maybe I'll be converted, and I'll later sing the praises of this drink from the highest hills in Oregon. Maybe not.

Three observations:

1. I think that "Black Cherry Vanilla Coke" is too long of a title. Especially when you throw in a "Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke" in the mix. Or what about "Black Cherry Vanilla Coke Zero." Or "Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke with Lemon." Even "Coca-Cola" got shortened to "Coke." Maybe they'll shorten it to BCV Coke. Or BCVC. Or DBVCw/L. Who knows.

2. Where is the contest? This is bullshit. When they introduce a new flavor, there should be one of those "1 in 4 wins a 1-Liter" contests. Even though I don't want a 1-Liter, I still want the satisfaction of winning every now and then. And the contest gives me slight justification for buying a pop that I don't need.

3. Lastly, I don't understand Coke's math. Cherry Coke + Vanilla Coke = Black Cherry Vanilla Coke? WTF is the "Black" cherry? Where did that come from? Why do they have to get all racial over a drink? It's just a f-ing drink. All I can guess is that they're trying to increase Coke's street cred.

True Giraffe Stories: Snoop-a-Loop

My life is so colorful, so full of exciting tales and adventurous stories, that I often forget some of these events. Today, I had a flashback. I remembered a crazy night from college. I thought I'd share it with you and also forever document it into the internet.

This crazy night took place near the end of my freshman year of college. Be warned—this story does not involve nudity or promiscuousness, but it does involve underage drinking, Mini Snoop Doggy Dog, getting kicked out of three house parties, and two handguns.

This story begins at the U of O Delta Tau Delta (DTD) fraternity house on a Friday night, February 2001. My friend and dorm neighbor, Tyler, belongs to this frat. Think of Tyler as Fred Durst’s beefy twin brother, except with way too many visible tattoos—arms, shoulders, flaming monk on one calf muscle, giant spider on the other. So I’m with Tyler and a couple of his DTD brothers shooting pool, drinking, talking about chicks—what every college freshman does.

Tyler’s DTD brothers are a seedy bunch. Now, I partially associate this with the fact that they occasionally do drugs. And I don’t, never have. Maybe they just smoked pot, maybe more, I don’t know. But the reason I tell you that they did drugs is because I need to explain how we met this next group of fellas.

El (short for Elliot) was a middle school advisor. He helped 6th to 8th graders not only with school problems, but with family and social problems, too. He seemed like a cool guy. Relaxed clothing, dreadlocks. He was in his thirties, but that’s okay. He was a smooth speaker. Got along with everyone. Told stories. Told jokes. He was the social leader of his group of friends. Seemed like a good guy.

He brought two friends with him. One was a tall guy, Ben Wallace-ish, but no ‘fro. I don’t remember much about him. Maybe because I drank too much that night, and he didn’t do anything memorable enough to stick out. The second friend looked EXACTLY like Snoop Dogg, if Snoop Dogg was four-foot-eleven and resided in Eugene. Both were pretty much quiet, but chimed in during laughing and giving someone shit.

Let me just say that these three guys were black and looked borderline normal-borderline thuggish, like they could “turn it on” if they wanted too. I am not racist. I am just explaining a visual observation. We were judged multiple times that night. We crashed a lot of predominantly white, preppy, Eugene parties.

So now you ask, “How did these DTD guys know El and his crew?” Oh, I didn’t mention? El was a drug dealer, and sold pot to these guys. That’s right, advisor to your youngest child by day, selling pot to your oldest child at night. This guy was one heck of a role model.

So we decide to go to some house party up in the hills. We don’t know anyone there, but heard of it though a friend of a friend… We a rolling in one of the DTD’s black BMW sedan, and El’s old school VW van. Cause that’s how WE roll. We finally find this place. Looks small from the street. Looks too quiet to be the bumping party it was hyped to be.

The note on the door reads “Party is downstairs. Come on in, unless you’re the cops.” Alright. Nice. This is the place. Now this house was built on some kind of a vortex on a hill, because it looked like a peaceful 500 sq ft house on the street level, but led into a 1500 sq ft party basement, with a full bar. I mean 360 degree bar. There were more than 100 people. Music turned up loud. Good times. I ran into an architecture friend, Andres, and also Jones. I don’t know what I said, but I remember thinking that I made a fool of myself. I remember Andres motioning the “he’s been drinking” hand signal to Jones.

(Sidenote—earlier on this Friday, I went off on a verbal tirade to these student representatives of this summer “internship” company that had set up shop in the atrium in the EMU. Their “internship” was a semi-pyramid scheme/cult involving selling educational teaching books door-to-door in a city across the country. Also, it’s paid on commission. They wind you in their web, and I’m glad I didn’t get sucked in. Long story short, guess who was hosting this party? One of the two people at the cult that I bitched out, of course.)

So the party is going along fine. People are dancing, drinking, socializing. So Mini-Snoop starts impressing the ladies with his dancing skills. So he’s doing the “Crip Walk” (A dance that you shouldn’t try, Nate. I know you saw them doing it on BET, but seriously, don’t.) And while he’s crip walking, not one, but BOTH of Mini-Snoop’s handguns fall out of his track-jacket pockets!!! (Note—I do not, nor did I at the time, believe these concealed weapons to be registered. They were most likely being carried illegally.)

We left the party. (Got kicked out.)

So where to next? Another friend of a friend’s party. Let’s roll. We hopped in the pimpmobiles and we were off.

Of the next two parties we got kicked out of, I really only remember one of them. It was a snazzy appletini cocktail party, maybe 20 people. Maybe. And we roll in. Fred Durst. Mini-Snoop. Dreadlocks. Ben Wallace. And three or four white guys (me and the other DTDs). One of the DTDs knows ONE of the preppy people.

Now some of these people looked scared of us. We did not fit in. We left the party shortly. (Got kicked out.)

So now it’s been three parties we’ve gotten kicked out, only one for gun possession, although he still concealed the guns the whole night. Three and out, what are we to do at 1am on a Friday night? Beer run at Safeway!!! How logical. We roll. Now the only people of legal age are El, Snoop, and Ben Wallace, so they’ll have to buy.

Progressively through the night, my judgment returned slowly:

“Where are we going with these sketchy white guys AND sketchy black guys?...”
“Oh shit, that’s a gun! What should I do? If I leave, how will I get home? Well, at least it didn’t go off when he dropped the gun, or the other gun…”
“Hmm, we keep getting kicked out of parties. And I NEVER get kicked out of parties. I wonder why tonight is so different…”
“How sober is the guy driving this old VW van? And when the buckle doesn’t work, does wrapping around and sitting on the belt really work…”
“I need to get out of this car and away from these sketchy guys before we all get arrested! NOW!”

So when we stopped at Safeway, I waited for El’s crew to go inside, and then I made up some “tired” or “too drunk” excuse. They offered to drop me off, but I didn’t even respond. I just walked out of the parking lot, at least a mile, to get home. What a sobering walk…

So… Lessons learned?
1. Stop hanging out with Delta Tau Delta brothers, even if they are Tyler’s friends.
2. Stop hanging out with dreadlocked drug dealers, even if they are nice and their friends are miniaturized versions of famous rappers and basketball players.
3. Don’t drink and drive or be a passenger in a similar situation.
4. Don’t drop your gun while crip walking, or any other dance for that matter.
5. When your child is in school, pay for private therapy; do not use the school’s counselor.

Componé Mi Coche

So I'm sitting here, getting ready to go out for a drink, and I'm flipping channels. I come to a show on CMT, called "Trick My Truck." It's literally Pimp My Ride for Semis...or in the auto fabrication world "4 Semiz." The first show's truck had a propane bbq, a queen pillowtop bed (for the guy and his wife), and fireplace. This second truck (for a retired marine) has an eagles and ripped waving flag paint job, neon underneath, a boot knife stick shift, and a webcam. I don't know how I feel about shows stealing another shows premise (ie Meet Your New Mommy on Fox). But if this trend continues, soon we'll se on the Spike Channel: "Bling My Bus," on the Lifetime Network: "Makeover My Minivan," and on Univision: "Componé Mi Coche."

Did I mention that while I wait to go out and get a drink, that I'm drinking a beer. It's been a long week. I couldn't wait.

Coming soon to the Giraffe blog... True Giraffe Stories. I was watching the special episode of Chappelle dedicated to Charlie Murphy True Hollywood Stories and thought I need to document what happens to me before I lose my memory. My stories don't involve Rick James or Prince, but I will try to make them entertaining, at the least. First up will be the time I hung with gun-toting, drug-dealing Snoop look-alike.

A Declaration

Today is a holiday, and I want to make a declaration. Just get something off my chest. I’m just going to put it out there.

There is only one good type of peanut butter and it is CHUNKY.
If you like creamy, then you suck. There is no good reason for creamy to exist.

Here are some excuses that Creamy supports might try to argue with, but don’t be fooled. These are not valid reasons for Creamy.

* I’m using it for baking
* I recently had my wisdom teeth removed
* I’m an old person, with dentures, and I can’t chew those crunchy little peanuts

Note that these aren't reasons, these are excuses. And it sounds like a bunch of bull to me.

For those of you believers out there, I want to not only show support for the Chunky community, but also lead you down another path. Yes, some say it’s a little too radical, too extremist, too controversial, but I’ve been doing it for years, and I’m doing just fine.

There's a whole world out there you have yet to experience, but don't worry. I'm here to open the door. These four words will probably change your life:

EXTRA CRUNCHY SUPER CHUNK

Resume Attached

Most of you know that I am currently unemployed and looking for work. After spending hundreds of hours of the past few months watching DVDs, I’ve found a new calling. I recently sent out a resume. Here is a copy of the cover letter.

Dear Dan Glickman,
President and CEO of the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA):

We have never met, but I am writing you today to express my great interest in working for your organization. In this cover letter I want to call attention to some unique characteristics that I believe immediately qualify me for hire at the MPAA.

I have included two lists of references on my resume. The first list is of the standard style, including former teachers, coworkers and employers who will say nothing but praise about my work ethic. The second list contains friends and internet forum buddies with similar tastes in movies. I have included this second list because people say that I can rate movies with extreme accuracy—G, PG, PG-13, parents strongly cautioned, everything. No joke! Just yesterday I was commenting to my brother that the movie Kill Bill Volume 1 should probably be rated R. He checked the box, and it WAS rated R. Incidents like this have led me to apply for a position on the Ratings Board of the MPAA.

I believe that I am very qualified for the job of sitting in a private air-conditioned theater, watching a movie, and then discussing what rating it deserves with colleagues possessing similar skills. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I am very good at identifying the reasons for a movie’s particular rating. I am skilled in identifying swear words, violence, drug use, and nudity to name a few. Especially nudity. I was just joking about that last one. But seriously, I can identify nudity. And WILL identify nudity, when rating movies for your organization.

When you scan my resume, you might notice my lack of work experience in the movie industry. While most of my previous work experience is in the advertising and electronic production fields, I do have experience relevant to the MPAA. You might also notice the gap in employment during the second half of 2005. To the naked eye, this might seem like a hindrance in hiring me, but I assure you I have used this time to practice my rating skills. For the past couple of months, I haven't considered myself unimployed. I have considered myself Movie-Watching Enabled.

Attached to this cover letter, I have included the lists of movies I’ve rented using my Three-At-A-Time Blockbuster Online subscription. As you see this includes the 103 movies I’ve rented online and the 29 I’ve rented at actual Blockbuster stores. I want to clarify that these are only the movies I’ve rented THIS YEAR, and those figures do not account for movies seen at the theater or DVDs borrowed from family and friends. This intensive movie-watching regiment has helped sharpen and polish my rating assigning skills ten-fold.

Lastly, let me say, that I personally think that your 1994 decision to split the Parental Guidance category into PG and PG-13 subcategories was a great move. I believe that this amplified revision of the ratings system has helped parents and legal guardians make better decisions in choosing acceptable movies for their children. Many friends and acquaintances of mine doubted the decision at the time, but I strongly lobbied for the PG split. When hired to serve on your Ratings Board, I want to speak with you about another PG split. I believe that here in 2006 we need to subcategorize again to PG, PG-11, and PG-14, but that’s a discussion for another time.

In conclusion, thank you for reading my resume, and I hope to speak with you soon. You can always find my contact information at my newly revised website MattGiraffe.com (a mirror of MattGraff.com).